A Mother's Love
by Lil black dog
Summary: A mother's parting gift to her only son. Inspired by a free write prompt entitled 'Last Words,' this grew of its own volition into something I hadn't planned, or even expected.


A/N: A mother's parting gift to her only son. Inspired by a free write prompt entitled 'Last Words,' this grew of its own volition into something I hadn't planned, or even expected.

In the past, I have suffered from a dearth of beta help. Now I am blessed with a surplus. Many thanks to T'Paya, Sam, KayCee and Beth, all of whom helped to make this better.

**A Mother's Love**

He had been sitting alone in the quiet of his apartment for some time now, a thick San Francisco fog effectively muffling the bustle of sounds from the dark street below. Turning the envelope over and over in his hands for what seemed like the hundredth time, he recalled how it had recently come into his possession.

A few hours ago, the somber nature of his thoughts had been interrupted by the chime of the doorbell. He had risen to his feet, checking the viewer which would tell him the identity of the unexpected caller on the other side of the door. Completely taken aback by the face he had seen, he had hurriedly rearranged his own into a neutral expression.

"Good evening, father," he had said as the door swished open at his behest. Sarek entered without a word, his cloak swirling about him as he tugged down the hood from about his face.

Wishing to say something – _anything _– to gloss over the awkward moment, he heard himself fill the emptiness with the first thing that came to mind. "I did not anticipate a visit from you at this time," he said to the silent, still figure of the tall Vulcan before him. "Is there a matter which requires my attention?" Never the warmest of parents, it seemed highly unlikely that this was a social call engineered by Sarek to assess how his son was coping with his recent losses.

"I have been going through your mother's possessions," his father stated without preamble. Despite the fact that he had been an ambassador for over sixty years, small talk – at least with his son – was not one of Sarek's strengths. "In the process, I came across this, complete with instructions that I was to deliver it to you personally." He held out a faded, weatherworn envelope emblazoned with Spock's name in Amanda's beautiful, flowing script.

"It was obviously her wish that you should have it at this time," his father had said, handing him the old-style stationery. Spock accepted the proffered letter, a tense, uncomfortable silence falling between father and son.

"My thanks for making the time to bring it to me, father," he had remarked with a deferential tilt of his head, oh so careful to keep his tone and features even, flat, emotionless.

A curt nod was the only reply. "And now I shall take my leave of you. Live long and prosper, my son," the Vulcan ambassador had said, raising his hand in the traditional salute before turning and disappearing down the dimly lit corridor without a backward glance. If ever there had been a time when they could have used Amanda to bridge the distance between them, it was now. Sadly, that was not to be.

Spock had closed the door and resumed his seat by the window, the brief exchange only serving to magnify exponentially his solemn thoughts of a few moments ago. It had been a difficult few months. Fifty-three days prior, the one person with whom he identified the most, who understood him better than anyone else in the galaxy, had met an untimely death, alone, the victim of a freak accident on the highly publicized test flight of the _Enterprise-B_.

For weeks, he had grappled with the remorse triggered by the thought that he had somehow failed his friend. Six years ago, Jim had first expressed his very real and visceral fear of dying alone. Since that time, Spock had done his utmost to ensure that that did not happen.

Until now.

Spock had been asked to participate in this shakedown cruise as well, but pressing commitments had precluded his ability to accept the invitation. Jim had gone anyway, as duty demanded…and died…alone.

Unfortunately for Spock, just when he'd thought he'd come to grips with the loss, gotten over the guilt of having his friend attend without his former first officer at his side, he had received a communiqué from his father. His mother was gravely ill, and not expected to survive. He had dropped everything and booked passage on a shuttle bound for Vulcan, arriving in time to say his goodbyes to the only other person in the universe who'd ever come close to really knowing the man hidden beneath the façade of logic and non-emotion.

He found the back-to-back losses quite troubling. He'd never had the chance to make his peace with Jim after volunteering him without Kirk's consent to be an emissary of peace to the Klingons. The mission had almost ended in tragedy – it had cost the life of Gorkon, the Klingon Chancellor of the High Council, and very nearly those of Jim and Doctor McCoy as well. As a result, their relationship had been strained over the last few years. Spock's rash, presumptive actions had stolen away the opportunity to express to his former captain just how much his friendship had meant over the years, how it had been the pivotal event that had given his life direction, and helped shape him into the man he had become.

And now he'd _never_ have the chance.

Sadly, he'd fared no better with his mother. All his life, he had conducted himself as a Vulcan when in her presence, failing to express his love for her, unable to tell her of his sincere appreciation for all she had done for him, all she had meant to him over the years. When he'd arrived at her bedside, determined to remedy the mistakes and omissions of the past, she'd been in a coma, near death. He'd held her hand, talking quietly to her for hours until she had passed – his father had been unable to attend, the rigors of his office preventing him from returning to Vulcan in time. Spock never knew if she truly heard, or even comprehended, the ramifications of his whispered confessions of love and strong ties of affection.

It was a devastating blow to have lost the two people who meant the most to him within six weeks of one another, the pain compounded by the fact that he had been unable to express to either their importance in his life before it was too late, but he had endeavored to face their deaths stoically, without grief, as his Vulcan training dictated.

It had proven to be impossible.

Setting aside these distressing thoughts, he turned his attention to the musty, linen envelope, sealed with wax in the style of old. Knowing he could no longer delay the inevitable, he slid his finger under the raised insignia, slipping several sheets of paper from within. Carefully unfolding them, he began to read in the soft light:

_14__th__ Day of T'lakht, 8926  
>{approximately Oct 2286}<em>

_My dearest Spock,_

_If you are reading this, then it means that I am no longer of this world._

He was unprepared for the strong reaction seeing those simple words had caused. Struggling to draw breath around the heaviness in his chest and blinking rapidly to clear vision that had blurred suddenly, he thought how like his mother that concise and succinct statement was. Never one to beat around the bush, over the years Amanda had often spoken her mind directly and forcefully, much to the chagrin of her husband, and to the secret delight of her only son.

As the ocular distortion gradually dissipated, the letter in his hands once again came into focus.

_Your duty to Starfleet often keeps us apart for long periods of time, and I wanted to make sure I had the opportunity to say this to you, even if it wasn't face to face._

_I am so incredibly proud of you – not just for the professional accomplishments you have achieved, but the personal as well. Yours was a difficult path to walk, my son, and you have always done it with the utmost poise and dignity. At first, your road was very straight and narrow, and allowed for almost no deviation from its preset course. But as you grew, you were faced with life experiences and a multitude of choices which helped you to decide on which of the numerous branches and alternate routes to tread. It was these twists and turns along the way which led you to the unique man you've become, and I couldn't be more pleased. Neither wholly Vulcan nor completely human, but an amalgam of both – what I've wanted for you since the day you were born. You have become _Spock_, and that is who I always wanted you to be._

_You are my son, my precious angel, and I have loved you since the first time I set eyes on you – the delicate point to your ears, the cant of your upswept brows, the subtle greenish, beloved complexion. I knew in that very instant you'd have a difficult road to travel, but I never once doubted that you'd find your way._

_And you haven't disappointed me. You were the child of my heart; the one I'd hoped for, _prayed_ for – and I couldn't have wished for a better, more perfect son._

_The cultural differences between me and your father often meant that I was not able to be the parent I so desperately wanted to be; was not able to say the things I wanted to you as my son, or express the physical affection for you that would have been as natural to me as breathing under different circumstances._

_That being said, it does not mean that I resent your father, the Vulcan way of life, or you for choosing it over your human heritage. Many years ago, I told Jim Kirk that the logical, unemotional approach to life embraced by Vulcans was a better way than ours, and I meant it. For you especially, growing up as a hybrid on your father's home world, it was the only viable option available to you at the time._

_But I always did secretly and quietly lament that that part of me I had given to you went unexplored, ignored and hidden away for so long, until it was unlocked and finally allowed some breathing room by friends who understood you better than you understood yourself._

_I will always be grateful to the fine crew of the _Enterprise_, and to Leonard McCoy and Jim Kirk in particular for helping you to realize your full potential, to come into your own as an individual. The _Enterprise_ became your home, and you were welcomed into her family with open arms. That gallant crew, and those two fine men, helped you find your place in this world; something your father and I were never able to do, it seems. When you left Vulcan for Starfleet, I worried about you non-stop, but after our visit to your ship many years ago I could see that you were finally happy and content with the course your life had taken, and I was happy for you._

_You have always been special to me, and I wanted to make sure you were aware of the fact that, for me at least, your eyes have always conveyed to me that which was in your heart, even if your words could not._

_Know that you'll always be in my heart my son, and I'll always be with you._

_All my love_

He closed his eyes, a sigh of relief escaping through compressed lips. The weight of the world seemed to slip from his shoulders. How could he have believed that she didn't know how he felt about her? It gave him hope that, even though he had not been able to express his feelings to Jim, his friend had been aware of the emotional connection they shared, as well.

How ironic that even in death, his mother had been able to bring him peace, and comfort, just as she had done when he was a child. She might have been unable to hug him, offer physical comfort or kiss his hurts away, but his heart had always been lighter, his burdens not nearly as heavy, after the two of them had talked. She was truly an exceptional woman, and he was infinitely proud that part of her still lived on, within him.

Finis

oooOOOooo

A/N: I imagine that Amanda wrote this some time after the events of ST: IV, upon hearing the message Spock asked his father to deliver to her: "Tell her, 'I feel fine.'" To my mind, that would have been the pivotal moment for her to have realized that her son had finally found his way in the world.


End file.
